Martyr of Zanarkand
by Datau
Summary: "I can assure you that our Aeon is more than able to defend itself." As things turned out, that was a severe understatement. A light-hearted recount of the events after the Machina War: it follows a young couple of Summoners in their attempt at ending the monstrosity that they wittingly brought upon Spira and themselves. Set in an AU.
1. Once Again, I Am

**Once Again, I Am:**

Cold stone around me. Hard and unyielding: I could not move. My body was trapped in a prison of stone, undying, yet there was no escape. Confused images of worshipping men and women swirled into my mind, and I slowly realised I had awakened. The dreams drifted away like mist before the morning sun, as I struggled to reorganise my thoughts. I failed to recognise the faces of these people, but I grasped a name from their lips: they were referring to me as the Martyr of Zanarkand.

That was not right. I wouldn't say that I'm alive, but I'm definitely not dead enough to be a martyr. Furthermore, I used to have a name, not such a pretentious title that I never asked for, let alone ever wanted. The storm of fleeting images inside my head hindered my understanding even further by providing additional questions, for which I could find no answers. Now, I haven't gotten so far without learning a great deal about self-control: as I focused my thoughts on the matter at hand, the storm died at once, and several answers came to mind; most were not pleasant.

Spira knows me as the Martyr of Zanarkand, a very prestigious honorary title that, coincidentally, is also not particularly accurate as well. I had been in a millennia long slumber, during which I could have only grasped splinters of what happened around me; generations passed one after the other, and yet I kept sleeping in the uttermost indifference. But now I am tired of dreaming: as countless men and women crossed their brief existences with mine, my mind began awakening from this numbing torpor, and I slowly regained awareness of myself.

My ascension to this new form of "life" was due to a particularly nasty side effect from a very powerful spell, right after my last fight against that monstrosity known as Sin: a foolish attempt to destroy that abomination backfired spectacularly, permanently encasing me in stone for the following centuries, while leaving Sin free to roam unchecked across Spira; and although I can not die as long as I am bound in this form, I can't leave it either. The only thing I had left were my magic powers, luckily still strong enough to give me a certain degree of freedom; they are truly worthy of the great Summoner I have become.

I was not the only one who desperately needed some help though, in fact my awakening couldn't have been more well-timed: somewhere nearby, my magic told me, a former warrior-monk's heart was tormented by anger and disillusion, as if he felt betrayed by the very God he believed in; digging deeper into his soul, I discovered that said man had an obsessive desire to reach a certain aim, but he didn't knew how he was supposed to reach it. An extraordinarily determined man can truly do the unthinkable thus, figuring out we might do each other a favour, I gathered my powers and summoned him to me.

* * *

_Holy Bevelle, 90 years after the Fourth Calm:_

A young man was swiftly walking across the corridors of a richly adorned temple, ripping open one door after the other in contempt of the respect that such a holy place deserved. A pious monk would have deemed his irreverence towards my sanctuary almost blasphemous, but since midnight had long since passed, nobody was there to complain. Apparently said man wasn't well aware of the way towards my chamber, because he kept getting lost among the countless corridors that formed the largest and most venerated temple on Spira.

I was already aware of his presence, and not only due to his loud noises: I had imbued this temple with my powers over time, and my control over it was now absolute. Every single step on its floor is a gentle touch on my skin; a prayer to me is a whisper in my ear; every time its holy walls are blessed with incense, I breathe it through my lungs; its statues and portraits are my ever-vigilant eyes. Each and every part of my temple is an extension of my body; nothing happens there that I am not aware of.

As this irreverent warrior-monk opened yet another door to a dead-end, I decided it was time to give him a hand, so that he didn't have to find my inner sanctum by trial and error. To get his attention, I blew off all the lights but one, so that he had to reach it if he wanted to see; I then lit a second light not far from the first, then a third and a fourth, slowly forming a path that would have led him right into my chamber.

He must had realised what I had done, because he sped up his pace to reach each next light. To not confuse him, I locked every door that might have deviated him from the right way. Soon, he got into one of the few Machinas that still existed, an elevator that would have led him to me, and waited for me to make it function. To hasten the whole process, I rearranged the elevator's operation, so that it didn't have to stop at every floor.

As soon as the elevator stopped at the lowest level, the man crossed the circular antechamber that preceded my inner sanctum and aimed towards the last door before me, apparently not hampered by the heavy smell of incense and holy oil that was in the air. On his way, he also ignored the garlands and other similar offerings that were adorning the room, recent gifts from pilgrims who though they owed their lives to me.

Not concerned at all with his surroundings, he finally entered my room, but stopped right after the threshold: the room was empty to his eyes, because I had not decided yet to appear. After a second, he took a chance by addressing directly to the void: "You said you could help me find a friend. Is it true?" He had refused to be specific, and from his tone of voice it was clear he was unsure whether to trust me or not; I couldn't have blamed him, after all he had been through.

Unfortunately, I was also partially responsible for what happened to him in the first place thus, by revealing him my true identity, I would have lost his trust. That is why, when I met him for the first time, I had to use a simple illusion as a disguise; nothing complex, I merely reduced my height to the one of a ten years old child, and added a hood to hide my face. And tonight, to keep up appearances, I showed myself to him with the same disguise.

"I know where he is, but getting you there might be a little complicated. You know, creating a portal is difficult when the destination keeps moving. And if it weren't for your "condition", not even my powers would have sufficed, I am afraid. Are you still sure about this?" No point in sending him, if he wasn't determined enough to run the risk of appearing in the middle of the ocean. His answer would have told me if I had chosen well.

"Humph. Do I look like I have anything else to lose?" That's what I wanted to hear. "Very well, I shall begin creating a portal at once, then. It will take several minutes before it is fully opened, though." He shrugged. "I have time." I began circumscribing the area in which the spell would have taken place. "Feel free to have a look around in the meantime, I'll call you when it is ready. We'll talk then." He nodded and left me alone with a complex spell to cast.

* * *

I began pouring energy from my imprisoned body. Long ago, such an effort would have left me exhausted, if not outright dead from the exertion. And tonight I was about to cast a spell that would have fatigued even the most powerful Summoners. There was no need to hurry, I had all the time I wanted. Haste, I knew from experience, was the greatest enemy of all ill-conceived plans. Even the slightest mistake in such a delicate process could have had disastrous consequences. That poor fellow could have ended up virtually anywhere on Spira, provided he got there in one piece, off course.

But there was no need to fear the worst. I was fully aware of my limits, I knew the difference between what was possible and what was not. Afterall, I had already learned a severe lesson from my past, hadn't I? How could anything go so wrong once again? And with such a thought, the slight smile on my lips died at once. At the time, my mind was fixed on a relatively simple task, to destroy Sin once and for all. Achieving enough power to fulfill that goal, though, proved to be harder than I initially thought. I exploited people, I lied to them, I gave them false hopes so that they would sacrifice everything they had to follow me. And when I failed, they were those who paid the most.

What about my newfound friend? Was he any different from them? Or was he just another puppet in my hands, a useful but also perfectly expendable tool? How many other people could I hold on my conscience? I if could, I would have put my hands on my blonde hair. My silence and complacency, how much sorrow have they caused? And I who kept deluding myself into thinking that it was for the greater good! When did I became such a horrible person? No. My _methods_ were questionable, my _intentions_ were pure. I was one of the few who had the means to destroy Sin: the only doubt was whether to use them or not. Neither of these two choices was inherently _right; _with my reasoning being that the necessity to stop Sin outweighed the moral reservations by a wide margin, I chose the former over the latter.

But what about nowadays? Was history just about to repeat itself? I did not knew yet, and the thought scared me. I needed time to think about it. I had plenty. If everything I had done so far had been for naught, then I would have dismissed the warrior-monk with my "most sincere apologies"; any excuse should have sufficed in this sense. On the other hand, if my plan had turned out to be the only feasible option, I would have had no other choice but to pursue it once again. The easiest way to get an answer was to relive all my past life before my eyes, thus I began digging into my memory.


	2. The City That Never Sleeps

_A.N: Chapter rewritten from scratch. AU explanation given. Let me know what you think._

* * *

**The City That Never Sleeps:**

For everything to finally make some sense, I needed to reconstruct my identity in its entirety: a centuries-long slumber had left me wide gaps in my memory, black holes that spanned days, if not even weeks. Places. Encounters. Faces. Fleeting shadows of whom I could have only caught a glimpse of, my faulty memory preventing me to grasp them in greater detail. Add to that a notorious absent-mindedness in anything that my past-self wasn't directly concerned with: the end result is a frustratingly unreliable narrator, a big picture that lacks a wider context.

_Sigh. I haven't always been like that_. I suppose my past-self should be excused, given his young age at the time: I was merely slightly more than a boy after all, younglings are not supposed to possess the insight of an adult. It took a bloody war between my homeland Zanarkand and the city of Bevelle, the Machina War as it was later to be called, to start off that slow process that would have eventually made me the man who I am now. I used to be always cheerful, if a little oblivious of what happened around me. And then, when I eventually gained awareness of the grim reality I found myself into, I replaced my laughers with a peculiar sneer, pregnant with bitter sarcasm. I still maintained a somewhat fatalistic sense of self-deprecation and auto-irony, though: not even Time itself could really change who I am.

That reminds me: pretentious titles aside, I don't have a name yet. If I could, I would have chuckled within my stone prison for forgetting such an important detail. Nevertheless, this sudden realization tore down the last barrier that prevented me from fully reassembling my fragmented identity. My name is Shuyin Zaon. I am a Summoner of Zanarkand, I can wield magic and bend it towards my needs. Theoretically, I could have made awesome stuff happen via highly improbable means. More pragmatically, I had never managed to achieve anything outstanding in my early years.

Nothing suggested that my late years would be any different: nevertheless, the unexpected explosion of the Machina War was about to change all my beliefs. Drastically. As it often happens in politics, the motives behind the conflict were trivial: Zanarkand was already a powerful city, then High Summoner Yu Yevon came and turned it into a continental superpower; Lord Macarian of Bevelle, seeing his own city's interests at stake, declared war on us to eliminate a dangerous competitor. That was fine for Yu Yevon: in fact, hadn't Macarian preceded him, he would have done exactly the same, for victory in this conflict meant undisputed hegemony over Spira.

Naturally, our propaganda machine objectively depicted Macarian as the warmongering tyrant that he was; Bevelle wanted to oppress Spira, and it was up to Zanarkand to stop them through a just and righteous war. Such a misconception was as widespread among my fellow citizens as it was foolishly simplistic. Even now I am ashamed to think that I used to believe it. Little did I knew how much I was about to be disappointed.

* * *

_City of Zanarkand, about a thousand years ago:_

Ruins. War had made them such a common sight that I barely noted their existence anymore. And to think that Zanarkand was once proud of these useless, foul-smelling piles of rubble; former shops and bars where our youths used to hang out day and night. It was thanks to them that we were once renown as "The City That Never Sleeps" across Spira. Then war came and reduced us to a city that could never sleep.

No sign of the enemy yet, but the distant gunshots and screams of pain suggested an intense shootout. Somewhere. To put it bluntly, I almost had no idea about what was happening around me: the surrounding buildings limited my tactical awareness, overlapping echoes distorted the sounds, and I could barely see beyond the next heap of bricks. But all in all, my hindrances were next to nothing, if compared to the problems faced by Machinas: they weren't smart enough to move around in an urban center; they kept getting stuck among the countless piles of rubble. In fact, several of Bevelle's toughest Machinas could have been defeated by _a simple flight of stairs!_

Anyway, I remember wearing my favorite outfit, the only one that I liked to wear at all times; it consisted in a black, yellow and dark blue jacket with red and black square sleeves: the bare minimum I needed to be distinguished from common soldiers. Customized hand-made clothes, a display of rank and prestige, were a privilege accorded only to our most important Summoners; they were also well beyond my limited budget. A pair of black fingerless gloves, coupled with black shorts and long military boots completed my attire.

And then there was that sore spot in my not-so-brilliant career as a Summoner, my weapon of choice: a rounded sword with a dark-blue metal core that absorbed light; a one-of-its-kind weapon that had been finely tuned for me to use, it worked in all extents like any other magical staff, with the difference being that no true Summoner would have ever lowered himself with such an accursed item.

Not that either weapon would have actually made the slightest difference in a straight fight against Bevelle; I have yet to see an army as well-drilled and motivated as theirs. One brief, concise order was everything they needed to redeploy against their would-have-been assailants, a ragtag bunch of youths of which I was unlucky enough to be part of. And to gun them down in a single volley. Hadn't I had been near cover, they would've got me too. But at least I now knew where they were hiding.

I absorbed energy from my body, gathering it on my left fist; I formed a black sphere of pure energy, extremely volatile and dangerous. Without too much thinking, I threw this small orb inside the building where the enemy found shelter into. The following explosion was powerful enough to shake the ground, as the dismembered building crumbled on itself. An annoyingly thick cloud of dust entered into my lungs, making me cough. This trick of mine is called Impulse; it is not a true spell in the strict sense of the word, but rather a technique I have developed to unleash a great deal of non-elemental energy in a short amount of time.

Unfortunately, now the enemy knew that they were facing a Summoner, and they weren't going to fall for the same trick twice. In fact, as I discovered later, they had spread out so that a single spell couldn't have killed them all in one shot like their unlucky comrades, while they needed only one bullet to dispatch me. And honestly, nothing short of a Summoner could have ever been a serious threat to them. We could have seized back these now-worthless ruins through brute force eventually, but that would have resulted in a massive bloodbath. And what's the point of wasting good men when there are other, far easier and more satisfying solutions?

I had just made contact with the enemy. Before that, we weren't even certain that there were any within this neighborhood. And if common sense had taught me anything, there were other squads nearby. I could not see them, off course, but they had to be _close enough_ to support each other in a firefight. Since fighting these soldiers on their terms was basically a death sentence, the only reasonable solution was calling for help: a magical flare flew over the enemy, exploding harmlessly above them and creating a sky-high fountain of sparkles in the process. They stood still for a second, unsure about what I was aiming at. As they realised what was about to happen, they began fleeing while screaming the ever popular _"Run for your lives!"_

And I would have done the same if I were them. Help came in the form of a mighty firestorm over their heads, thanks to our battle Summoners in the rear lines who had seen my signal flare and answered with some good heavy artillery fire. When the dust eventually settled, there wasn't much left of the enemy. Or the entire neighbourhood, for that matter.

* * *

I sat on a convenient heap of rubble to rest; as euphoria and an irrational sensation of invincibility began dissipating, I felt the first symptoms of tiredness over my body. _We have won. Victory is ours, long live Zanarkand, and all that stuff._ But then, why did I felt as if we had lost? Maybe because we had just fought an unimpressive skirmish, rather than the massive all-out assault I had been expecting. Bevelle must had just suffered the outstanding loss of about twenty men in this battle, whereas they had only several thousands more left in reserve. _Today's death toll: too many. They are slaughtering us. How can we ever hope to win, if we keep suffering such unacceptable casualties?_

"Shuyin. Are you all right? You seem ill." A well-known Summoner of about my age greeted me. She put her hand on my forefront to take my temperature, as if that were the source of my uneasiness. Since I was not feverish, she guessed my thoughts and squeezed my arm to cheer me up. That did the trick, I resumed breathing normally. Her innate ability to read me like an open book has never ceased to amaze me: she wore a black dress, along with a dark blue sash that wrapped around her neck and over her chest; she firmly held a staff in her right hand, with the symbol of Zanarkand embedded in a golden halo at the top; two separated kimono-like blue sleeves and a pair of brown hand-made leather shoes completed her outfit. If her look emphasised her predisposition for command, her brown eyes and her long brown hair that reached her back also underlined her cuteness.

She was my closest friend and, given my unfortunate peculiarity, the only girl I could have ever studied with. Unexplainably, I cannot focus my powers into anything more than destructive energy; any conventional spell I cast is pathetically feeble, and prone at wearing out at the worst times. Hadn't she been there to help me, my career as a Summoner would have ended even before starting: it was she who had found a workaround to circumvent this complication. As a pledge of friendship, she used her outstanding powers to craft my special sword, my only reliable connection to the realm of magic. An impressive achievement for a girl of her age, but that was well to be expected from the daughter of Yu Yevon. Her name was Lenne, and she was probably the greatest Summoner I have ever known.

"Hi Lenne. I was just being thoughtful." Dwelling on what had just happened was the last thing I needed; Lenne must have read my thoughts, because she immediately changed subject. "Have you heard the news? Father wants all Summoners in the Council Chamber tonight." That was an unexpected move from Yu Yevon; there weren't many decisions that the High Summoner couldn't take without the approval of his fellow Summoners. "Tonight? What's he up to? Did he told you?" "Nope. But it must be something important. Since the beginning of the siege, I have never seen father so involved in one of his projects. If I were to take a wild guess, I'd say he might have found a way to turn the war's outcome." As it turned out, she had assumed correctly, as always. And with the benefit of hindsight I wish she hadn't. "I hope you're right, Lenne. What could it be? A spell of some sort?"

"I don't know, and that's significant. I have never seen something like what he was working on; in fact, the theory behind it is far more complex than what a Summoner, no matter his age or rank, usually studies. Certainly it doesn't belong to any known magical schools." Old magic that is no longer taught or practiced, a perfect reciepe for potential disasters. "There's a reason why forbidden magic is called like that, Lenne. How do we know it won't blow up in our faces?"

As she often did, Lenne defended her father with a determination that verged on zealotry. "Don't be silly. Father would never endanger Zanarkand; he knows what he is capable of. Besides, he wouldn't have spent so much time in his project if he weren't completely sure of the result, don't you think?" In the end my concerns of a catastrophic failure were completely unjustified: if anything, Yu Yevon's plan worked out even too much effectively for my tastes. "That doesn't change that he is dealing with forbidden magic, though."

"He is the High Summoner! He chooses what is forbidden and what is not." Since convincing me otherwise seemed fighting a lost battle, she changed her tactics. "If you don't have faith in him, at least listen to what he will propose. If it turns out to be unfeasible, the other Summoners will vote it down; father cares about their opinion, he won't impose his decision. And they surely know what is better for Zanarkand than us." She had a point, and Lenne had no other needs to improve her rhetoric at my expenses, so I gave up. "Alright, alright, you have convinced me. I guess we'll have to see with our eyes tonight, then."


	3. A Fleeting Dream

**A Fleeting Dream:**

Among all the places where Yu Yevon could have called his all-important assemble, he had deemed the Council Chamber as the safest, being one of the few places that had been left still relatively intact by the bombardments. That was no mere coincidence, off course: in order to diffuse a widespread sense of security among the population, the High Summoner had worked hard to create magical barriers over Zanarkand's key infrastructures, so that they would be well protected from artillery fire. Such a protective barrier was both highly efficient and nearly indiscernible to the sight from the building it was put on, were it not for the faint glow emitted by the glyphs that powered it. That, and the high-caliber rounds that bounced off harmlessly whenever one of said barriers was hit.

Mildly intrigued by Lenne's promise of an outstanding disclosure, right after nightfall I joined the crowd that had already gathered past the main door of this spacious building. A few chosen Summoners acted as sentinels at its entrance: to maintain the uttermost secrecy, they carefully monitored the entering crowd, seeking any potential intruder for security reasons. That might have been a perfectly reasonable precaution against the ever-present threat of Bevelle's spies, but that was not their only concern: unexplainably, some of my fellow citizens of Zanarkand had an annoying, irrational desire to meddle into top-secret stuff they were not supposed to know. And Zanarkand's interrogation techniques to discern an ordinary curious from a harmful mole could get quite painful quite easily, or so I had been told.

Anyway, dating back to Zanarkand's founding, this chamber was a hemispherical building with several hundred seats; each seat was not a mere richly adorned armchair, but rather a floating platform that could be lifted or lowered by its occupant as he attended his political duties. The height that one could reach with his platform depended entirely on his powers as a Summoner. Naturally, the High Summoner's seat was the one that could be lifted up higher, whereas mine could barely reach a grown man's waist; but considering Zanarkand's rigid hierarchical structure, such a discrimination was not to be unexpected, and I wasn't really in a position to make a fuss about it, anyway: afterall, I've never had neither the inclination nor the predisposition for arousing speeches. Plus, I seriously doubted anyone would have ever cared to hear my unimportant opinion.

Thus, I spent most of my time within this Chamber boring myself to death by listening to the continuous bickering among the eldest Summoners, as our so-called government repeatedly proved its incompetence by debating endlessly for hours without reaching a point. Then Yu Yevon would usually stand up from his throne to pronounce a few chosen words, and everyone would do as he had told, applauding him even for his ability to get things done when others couldn't find a feasible solution. With the benefit of hindsight, I must admit that dismissing Zanarkand's internal struggles for power as something that did not concern me was a big mistake on my part, but at the time I could not yet grasp the implications of leaving my life into someone else's hands. Little did I suspected how my naïvety was about to bite me in the arse.

* * *

The two men were standing one in front of the other, like two mute, immobile statues eternally intent at looking one another with contempt: despite not having expressed a word yet, their eyes betrayed the unmistakable tension that ran between them, as one Summoner challenged the other's authority. The challenger was a weakling old fool, a relic of a past age whose survival, apparently, wouldn't have been possible if he had lost his current occupation, which mainly consisted in him wasting his breath for hours; at least, that was what passed in my mind. His name was Gavin, and he had fruitlessly spent his whole life by trying to supplant the High Summoner, only for him to keep failing every time. His only part in this story consisted in being the only sane man who was ultimately right all along.

The other man was a far more interesting subject: despite being clearly older than Gavin, his shoulders were still surprisingly large and straight, as if he had served as a mercenary captain for his entire life; judging from his muscles, he could have easily wielded a two-handed sword in battle even despite his age. He wore a highly decorated blue robe, further embellished by various shades of gold, violet and red: his exotic clothes were all covered in gems, and his heavy shoulder pads were entirely made of pure gold. He wore several rings at his fingers, each imbued with ancient, forgotten powers that visibly distorted the surrounding air, as well as several other decorations directly tied to his long, impeccable white beard.

But the most remarkable feature of Yu Yevon were the ever-pulsating glyphs that covered his whole body: the symbols of unknown origin that he had over his palms, his arms and his face were all tied together by thin filaments of the same color as white gold; the end result was a complex web of tribal-like tattoos, too attractive to not be fascinated with, and yet too frightful for addressing him with anything but the uttermost respect. His wise eyes, that used to be light brown like his daughter's, were now golden; they were also completely intent at staring at his would-be successor with a severe expression.

"The situation is dire, Yevon, far more than you dare admitting." Gavin began. "Despite our best efforts and sacrifices, _we do not_ have the strength to crush our enemies in one decisive blow." he turned away his eyes from Yu Yevon, in order to address his speech directly to the underlying assemble. "Summoners of Zanarkand, you already know why: those thrice-cursed Machinas would leave us severely weakened for the next decades, if we struck now, _no matter how or with what_. We would win a war only to lose everything we fought it for. And for the well-being of Zanarkand, that is unacceptable."

Gavin's cheap shot must have left its mark, because not even Yu Yevon could have found the words to contradict him. He continued. "However, you are also well aware that Bevelle's High Command has proposed us a temporary truce. If we agreed to their offer, we would buy ourselves additional time to reevaluate our current situation. We could even solve our controversy through diplomatic channels, and fewer people would die. Zanarkand has much to gain by agreeing to their ceasefire."

Off course, Yu Yevon wasn't going to let such an act of defiance go unpunished. "As Zanarkand's High Summoner it is my opinion, Summoner Gavin," with a particular emphasis on _Summoner. _"that accepting Bevelle's offer of a ceasefire, an explicit declaration of defeat in other words, would underline our military vulnerability to the rest of Spira, severely weakening our political influence over the continent. It would also be an insult to the memories of those who fought and died for Zanarkand, _as your words seemed to imply_."

Despite his straight face, I had no doubt that Yu Yevon was grinning, as the angered crowd began throwing insults at an ashamed Gavin for his apparent betrayal. Since his adversary had nothing else to add, Yu Yevon exploited this opportunity to expose his plan. "With their sacrifice in mind, I began wondering what they stood for, what we stand for, and I came to a simple conclusion: we are Summoners; if we are to win, we must fight Bevelle on our own terms. The greatest achievement that a magician can ever hope to accomplish is summoning an Aeon._ Through a collective effort we can create the greatest Aeon in Spira's history."_

At this point it was already clear who had won the argument. "I had already devised a powerful spell well ahead of time, in case something similar happened. Mount Gagazet would be our best bet regarding the place where we should perform our summoning: Machinas would break under such extreme temperatures, and I have yet to see a man survive the icy winds without magic. Summoning an Aeon is an unusual mean to achieve victory, that is true, but desperate times call for desperate measures."

A girl with a pigtail boldly asked him a question: "But Lord Yevon, what is an Aeon? How can it help us winning the war?" "My apologies, Lady Ralaya." Yu Yevon was well aware that addressing to someone by his name was just the first step to earn his respect, and could remember the names of each and every Summoner in a chamber designed to hold hundreds of people; no, I don't know how on Spira could he do that. "I had forgotten that our youngest Summoners might not be familiar with such a word of power. I shall explain at once."

Once again, Yu Yevon had just managed to gather considerable support for his plan even before illustrating it. Through his magic, he switched off all the chamber's lights with an elegant gesture, and the room descended into almost complete darkness. He then began drawing a complex series of symbols and diagrams in the air with his finger, each of them glowing with a different color to be easily distinguished from the others. He highlighted the silhouette of a monster, a weird cross between a shark and a whale that also had wings, filling its volume with gray matter in order to give a skin to said monster. He then used his magic to give life to the inanimate matter, creating a live reproduction of that ugly thingy. To add more weight to his words, Yu Yevon also let his Aeon free to fly around into the room, and several people, Ralaya included, watched it in awe as his miniaturised toy showed off itself to the participating.

It then concentrated its attention on Gavin, shooting what appeared to be dozens of small plasma balls at him. _"What the hell are you doing, Yu Yevon?!" _he protested, as he awkwardly casted a quick spell to protect himself from the incoming bullets. "There's no need to be worried, Gavin. It is completely harmless." Yu Yevon explained to an extremely embarrassed Summoner, who had just managed to make a fool of himself in front of hundreds of people. "I can assure you, though, that the real one will be bigger and better and badder." A chorus of derision exploded as Gavin, livid from anger and unwilling to be humiliated even further, pulled back his objections and lowered his platform.

Yu Yevon nodded in agreement at his only wise decision, before continuing. "An Aeon is a powerful fiend controlled by a Summoner. Unlike common monsters, Aeon are not created by the resentful spirits of those who have died and were never sent to the Farplane: becoming an Aeon is a volunteer process, and is always reversible. To exist, an Aeon needs a core, known as a Fayth, that is a person who willingly gave his life to empower the Aeon itself. Said person is magically sealed in stone, and will never wither or die as long as the enchantment is active." Dramatic pause. The mini-Aeon had already forgotten about Gavin, and was now focusing its attention on the reproduction of a city I had never seen before; this time its weapons were causing a lot of damage to the small buildings that composed it, and several of those that had taken fire loudly exploded like fireworks. Surely Yu Yevon knew how to gather everyone's attention.

"A single man, no matter how powerful his link to the Summoner is, will not be a strong enough Fayth. But think of this: what if an entire city were sacrificed to create our Aeon? Surely it would crush Bevelle's army without difficulty. I said Bevelle's army? What about the city of Bevelle? _Our Aeon could burn their miserable city to the ground without even breaking a sweat!_" A huge wave of clapping followed his words, as the Summoners of Zanarkand enthusiastically approved his plan in unison.

"Thank you. Thank you. Unfortunately, I am fully aware that the war against Bevelle won't be a matter of hours, in fact it could take several weeks to end. I do not wish my fellow citizens to be imprisoned in stone for so long." With a single gesture the Aeon and the burning city disappeared, both displaced by a complex diagram composed of two concentric circles. Thousands of stylised, surprisingly cute little men and women were arranged between the inner and the outer circles, and they greeted their viewers with their small hands.

"That is why, to preserve a limited amount of individual freedom, I've decided to create a faithful reproduction of Zanarkand far away from any known land, where each of you will be able to shape himself into a new, although temporary, form of life. This extracorporeal experience is very similar to a dream, everything that happens will eventually end when you'll awaken." The same little men were now busy with various activities in a miniaturised Zanarkand: some of them were hanging around with their friends, others were establishing a relationship with the girl or the boy they loved, a few were playing a tense blitzball match in our stadium. Although unaware of their fleetingness, they seemed happy with their precarious lives.

"The Fayth shall empower both our new weapon and our Dream Zanarkand, and both will disappear when the enchantment is broken, right after Bevelle will be no more." A third gesture and the lives of the mini-Zanarkandians were suddenly shattered, as if they had never existed. _But they have never existed in the first place, have you forgotten? What will happen to those who we create, when this will be over? Will they suffer in their...death? _Only now doYevon's plan appear to me under a new light, for I have realised the implicit cruelty behind his Dream Zanarkand. _And to think I was among those who were nearly venerating him by that point!_

It was time for him to permanently seal his whole plan: "Sons and daughters of Zanarkand! You honour me with your trust. Leading our Aeon against our hatred enemies is a strenuous task, I won't deny it, that I shall accomplish to the best of my ability. Know this: when we came here, with sorrow in our hearts, we thought we had already lost this war. But today, more than ever, _victory. Is. At hand!_"


	4. Rise of Sin

**Rise of Sin:**

Yu Yevon might have gained the full support of his fellow Summoners with his impressive speech, but somehow he had forgotten to explain how we were going to coördinate the evacuation of an entire city. Broadcasting his plan over our news network would have only attracted Bevelle's attention, an artillery barrage in other words, towards mount Gagazet's top: had we wanted a slaughter, we could as well have simply erected a huge neon-lighted billboard with the words _"free kills"_ on the mountain. That left the Zanarkandian army, and by extension me, with the ungrateful task of knocking at each and every door after nightfall, to throw people out from their beds to the streets,so that others could funnel them in the right direction.

As an additional safety precaution, Yu Yevon had also opted to screen our collective ascension trough a convenient magical snowstorm right over our destination: with his visibility severely hampered by the falling snow and his hearing impaired by the constant blasts of wind, an enemy forward observer would have struggled to distinguish us from the black rocks in the background, let alone hear the deafening sounds that we would have certainly made during the whole process. In order to survive our own smokescreen, our Summoners were also tasked to cast a simple spell over our folk, to protect them from the cold winds and the slippery ice of an otherwise impassable mountain.

Saying that Yu Yevon's decision brought complete chaos inside Zanarkand would be an understatement: we had hoped to split our people into several columns as if they were drilled soldiers, but we soon discovered that civilians had more things in common to a herd of cattle than we ever thought it was possible, in the sense that they were completely unable to maintain even an appearance of order. After an inordinate amount of sweating, screaming and swearing on both parts, we decided that the situation was desperate, and simply told them to go as they pleased. Which they were already doing, anyway.

Eventually an irregular, fragmented stream of refugees began its long walk towards Gagazet's summit, with Yu Yevon and his most trusted underlings at its head: their job was to flatten out and prepare the chosen site for the Summoning; easier said than done on such a jagged mountain full of crevasses, but luckily that was no concern of mine. Meanwhile, in that snow-clad part of Zanarkand's outskirts that bordered the Gagazet, countless minor Summoners were already at work, protecting the crowd from the bone-chilling cold with their magic.

Their feverish activity reminded me that nobody had actually bothered to cast a spell on me yet and, unless I wanted to face the fury of the elements for the entire climbing, I should had rather taken care for my own safety. My first attempt at casting a warming up spell apparently produced no beneficial result; if anything, it increased the amount of pain that my abused lungs suffered. During the second, a feeble sphere-shaped flare appeared; not bigger than a marble, much to my disappointment it lasted only for a fraction of a second.

"Let me handle this, Shuyin. Just stand still for a second." a familiar voice suggested behind my back, coming from a well-known girl perhaps too used at subtly ordering people about. She shaped a flawless red-pulsing sphere about the size of a blitzball, and slowly headed it towards my chest: it effortlessly passed through my clothes, and when it made contact with my skin, it felt warm to the touch. As blood began recirculating again within my numbed extremities, the sensation of pain subsided from excruciating to barely annoying.

"Thanks Lenne. Why are you here, though? I thought you were with your father." Knowing Yu Yevon's attachment towards his only daughter, I seriously doubted that he willingly gave her his consent to remain here. Nonetheless, I suppose he had far more pressing issues at hand than to argue about it with Lenne. "Father can take care of himself. I am here to aid those who can't." she snapped at me, confirming my suspicions in the process. "Or were you going to get the top all by yourself?"

"I suppose not. Well, dawn isn't going to wait for us: shall we get going?" She nodded, and we joined the ascending crowd. As we steadily treaded over knee-deep snow and slippery ice without the slightest discomfort, I began thinking about a reason that explained Lenne's presence here. She claimed that she was here only to help other people: what a pathetic excuse, she left them to their fate as soon as I suggested for us to leave; I had already figured that out from the way she snapped at me earlier. Either she had argued with her father, or she wanted someone in particular to keep her company. Someone like me.

_Calm down. She is here only as a friend, nothing more, nothing less. _I lied to myself, unsure whether to be intrigued or terrorized by this sudden realisation. No matter how confident she appeared to be on the outside, it was not unreasonable to think that she might have been afraid of what was about to happen; as a result, she needed to be reassured by someone close to her, to be told that everything would be fine.

But still, if that were the case, I would have expected a lot more judgement from a sharp-witted girl like her: I am not exactly the easiest person to have around, in fact, my natural tendency towards introversion makes me appear cold and detached to the others. That explains why I've never been oversupplied with friends, it goes with my peculiar character; it also explains why I've never had a girlfriend. Lenne herself often joked that I spoke too little and thought too much. Luckly she never added that I should go out and get laid.

On a second though, that last bit suddenly assumed an entirely new meaning, and not a particularly pleasant one. _What if she is expecting something for me? What if she is waiting for me to "make the first move"? _Somehow, the thought of her finding me unexpleinably attractive scared me more than anything else, Bevelle's flamethrowers included. And then, almost inevitably: _but what if I am wrong and I end up making a fool of myself?_ The prospect of losing her friendship was a grim one, thus I opted to focus my mind on the matter at hand, but not before concluding my line of reasoning with: _man, surely women are complicated._

"Lenne, may I ask you a question? Isn't becoming an Aeon a little too much for your father to handle?" Lenne looked nearly outraged by my remark. "You severely underestimate father's efforts to make sure his plan goes as smoothly as possible. He shall not _become_ our Aeon; such a burden would be an impossible load to bear for anyone. Instead, think of himself as if he were its brain: he will merely point it towards our targets and it shall do the rest; I can assure you that the Aeon is more than able to defend itself." As things turned out, that was a severe understatement.

I shouldn't have appeared convinced at all, because she added: "Before you ask me: yes, father has already taken additional safety precautions, some of them for highly unlikely circumstances, to guarantee the success of his plan. The Aeon follows one simple directive to the letter: it will hunt down and destroy any Machinas unless he orders otherwise. As you can see, he has taken care of any inconveniences that might happen. By the way, did I mention that it can also fly?" I was still not convinced, but Lenne trusted Yu Yevon's ability to handle the Aeon, so I had to pray that she was right.

* * *

Gagazet's summit was too tight to hold an entire city: as soon as we reached it, we noticed a large surface being flattened through powerful spells, so that a lot of people could be gathered there. I watched in awe as a thousands of years old mountain was evened out in mere minutes by Zanarkand's greatest Summoners, barehanded even. But that was just the beginning: while his colleagues were working, Yu Yevon was drawing strange inscriptions on the ground with the tip of his staff, where his summoning would have taken place. Soon, the entire summit was covered in shining neon-blue symbols that formed two huge concentric circles.

When everyone finished, Yu Yevon magically anplified his voice, so that we could hear him over the continuous blasts of wind: "Well, that was even easier than I thought. Alright, I want all the Summoners with me in the inner circle. Civilians and soldiers shall stand at least inside the outer one, for the spell to be effective." As Lenne led me in a random spot and told me to stay put, she placed herself near her father, who was in the middle of the circle; the ideal position for him to oversee the entire process and to give his last instructions. Confident that Bevelle's forward observers weren't nowhere near enough to discover his secret machination, he dispelled his snowstorm to save his strength for the upcoming summoning. Time passed as we waited for the latecomers from Zanarkand, until a Summoner confirmed that we were ready. And so we did it.

With an elegant gesture, Yu Yevon began draining our life to empower his Aeon. I was not the only one to fall on his knees for the effort; as the spell drained energy from my body, it took it first from my protective barrier, with the unpleasant result of exposing me to the elements, with sharp shards of pain skittering through my lungs once again. As gray mass erupted from the twin circles, it slowly shaped itself into a grotesque form while lifting Yu Yevon in the air, permanently encasing him into his creation. Meanwhile, those on the outer ring were suffering a similar fate: their bodies turned into stone as they became the Aeon's Fayth one after the other. As the summoning continued, more and more people were encased within the Gagazet, while our Aeon grew uglier by the minute. After a while, it was the Summoners' turn to be entombed. That's when everything went wrong.

Our Aeon, nothing more than a very big whale-like-thing really, suddenly opened its mouth. And screamed. Everyone who was not already on the ground fell, as an eardrums-breaking shout struck us down. Even before the spell had ended, the Aeon began moving towards Zanarkand, uncaring about the avalanches that it caused with its every movement; it seemed angry. To make things worse, the spell was still well-functioning and completely dedicated at petrifying people left and right; the Summoners around me discovered it in the hard way, as Yu Yevon's plan backfired spectacularly on the only ones who could have stopped it.

_Screw this, I'm out of here! _Being an awful Summoner, my link with the Aeon was weak enough for me to be broken, but my escape attempt lasted a lot less than I'd have liked: with my protection spell completely drained, the upland I was on returned to be a frictionless surface all covered in ice, with predictable results as soon as I tried to run away. When I fell, I managed to push a fainted Lenne away from the concentric circles, far enough for her to be safe from a spell that kept on empowering the Aeon even further. The same couldn't have been said for me however, as I realised with dread that I was rapidly approaching the outer edge of the upland with zero control over my motion.

Nothing I had with me possessed enough friction to stop my impending fall, thus I resorted to a desperate measure: I pressed the palm of my hand on the slippery ice, intent at casting a simple fire spell. It worked, enough ice melted to form a shallow handhold for me to hang on. I had managed to stop my uncontrolled sliding, but when I eventually looked up, the entire upland was now filled with eerie statues of my fellow citizens, their bodies twisted into unnerving expressions of insane ecstasy and undeniable pain; their mere sight was enough to make my eyes hurt, thus I forced myself to focus on a single unconscious girl who would have surely frozen to death, had I not decided to act quickly enough.

Apparently, the Aeon wasn't particularly interested in us, because attempting at stopping me didn't even came to his mind. Unfortunately, something else caught its attention: Bevelle's army, which had just realised that a huge monster, that apparently had just come out from thin air, wasn't particularly pleased with their presence. I never saw the following battle, but the loud screams coming from Zanarkand were more than enough to understand who was winning. I've never felt so alone.


	5. The Calm Before the Storm

**The Calm Before the Storm:**

If there were one word apt to describe the Gagazet with the uttermost precision, that would be insidious: the impetuous winds that constantly blew the mountain produced several interesting side-effects on would-be climbers, most of whom discovered how lethal they could be when it was already too late. Over the years, the continuous wind blasts had thinned the weakest layers of ice and stone, shaping them into picturesque wafer-thin protuberances barely visible to the naked-eye; and they were sharp, as several people had learned on their skin in the hard way. But that was not my primary concern at the time.

"Lenne? Are you alright?"

No response. She was still breathing, I could tell from the rhythmical movement of her chest, as she inhaled and exhaled air from her lungs. The small puffs of hot air that she repeatedly emitted convinced me that she was merely unconscious, rather than in a far worse magical-induced coma: lacking the necessary knowledge to dispel such a curse, I seriously doubted she would have ever awakened again; and if there was one thing I knew for certain, in cases like this the Kiss of True Love from the fairy tales wouldn't have helped one bit.

"Lenne! Please, wake up! I am freezing!"

Despite my innate sense of pessimism and self-deprecation, the magic shield I had hastily devised to protect us both from the cold was apparently reliable enough to keep us alive; it might have still been a very poor excuse for a spell, but at least I could focus on the task at hand, waking up Lenne, without additional worries. Thanks to my military training, I knew enough of First Aid to help her even without magic: naturally, given the circumstances, loosening Lenne's clothes to facilitate her breathing was out of the question.

An unconscious person who still breathes doesn't need cardiopulmonary resuscitation, or CPR, to be awakened; several intense stimuli in a short period are more than enough to do that. According to a hypercompetent drill sergeant, this acronym actually stands for what CPR _is not_: it is not Clean, it is not Perfect and it is not even particularly Reliable; he also used to say that, despite resembling a somewhat romantic act, this lifesaving technique was an excellent way to break someone else's ribs, even when done right.

In this case, I had hoped to wake up Lenne by repeatedly shouting at her by her name. Had this attempt failed, I would have had no other choice but to cause her pain, by squeezing her hard in a ... very sensitive feminine area.

"Lenne! Don't force me to hurt you!"

Before I could do anything awkward, the Summoner opened her eyes; she didn't seem to understand what was happening around us. "Shuyin? Where am I? And what is that hellish noise?" I lent her a helping hand so that she could get up. "That's just the sound of a couple of skyscrapers as they are leveled to the ground by a rogue Aeon." I answered her with bitter sarcasm. Now, I wouldn't describe myself as short-tempered, but her perplexed expression I received in return somehow managed to flip me out like never before.

"In case you hadn't noticed," I continued with a polemic undertone and without actually realising how much my voice was raising, "our not-so-secret-anymore weapon is busy wiping out Bevelle's army, taking what remained of Zanarkand with it. In other words, its blind fury is costing us the very city it was supposed to protect. It is now clear that Yu Yevon had no clue about what on Spira he was doing." Probably I shouldn't have mentioned her father at all; she literally worshipped him, and my sharp remark was likely to anger her. A lot.

"Something must have went wrong during the summoning ritual; father spent weeks perfecting it: it couldn't have been his fault. Leave him out of this, he doesn't deserve your disdain." That was not a request, and my patience had already ran too thin to comply with her orders; no matter how much stressed I felt, I wasn't about to lose a chance to humiliate her even further. "If your father is as good as you claim, how could he mess up his own spell so badly?" I sneered at her. Lenne, livid, struggled to regain her composure.

"Nonsense! My father is a great Summoner, not an incompetent, wannabe magician like you." Well, that was low. I was not really in the mood to let it go, not now that my hands were itching to hit somebody. "How can you be so naïve, Lenne? He had overestimated his skill, he never had any real power over the Aeon. He has made a foolish promise that he couldn't fulfill: he has betrayed the trust of his fellow citizens! He has RUINED Zanarkand and brought it on its knees in front of our enemies! Don't you realise what he has done to us?!"

Too harsh. That last one bit had been needlessly harsh. My words had shaken her up pretty badly, I could tell from how she looked downwards, defeated, refusing to hold my gaze. Lenne had always been a strong girl: I would have never seen her crying, she wasn't going to give me that satisfaction, but that didn't mean I hadn't hurt her. An awkward silence fell, as I cursed myself for my recklessness."Lenne. I am sorry." "Shut up."

Intent as we were at yelling at each other, we had completely forgotten about the ongoing battle. But now that the noise was getting quieter, as this slaughter drew to a predictable conclusion, I began wondering whether staying there was secure, with a giant whale-like monster on our tails. "I...I think we should keep moving. Zanarkand is a no-go, that leaves the Great Plateau as the only safe place within a day's distance." Lenne nodded and regained her composure as if nothing ever happened; she was still angry with me though. "You are right. Let's go."

* * *

Being the shortest way between Zanarkand and Bevelle, one might wonder why the latter had never tried invading the former through the Gagazet. They had tried, off course, and the remains of Machinas whose gears had been broken by the cold, together with the bones of unlucky Bevellian soldiers devoured by fiends, proved how much success they had, before the High Lords of Bevelle dismissed the whole idea as completely out of mind.

Surprisingly, descending from the Gagazet proved to be a lot easier than climbing it. There was no trace left of Ahrimans, Behemoths and other similar fiends that haunted the mountain; most likely because they had met something far more deadly than they could ever hope to be, and were simply too scared to leave their nests. That worked for us, though, as we met no resistance while we were descending from the completely uninhabited mountain (Ronsos were not considered people at the time).

Snow and ice began disappearing in the early afternoon, as we approached the valley floor where the mountain merged with an apparently never-ending plain. We had just reached the Great Plateau, the largest level ground of Spira that was later to be renamed the Calm Lands, as it is commonly known today; saying that it is immense doesn't do it enough justice: simply crossing it from one end to the other takes almost half a day. Hell, for most of the time one doesn't even see its borders!

Our nerves visibly relaxed as we began crossing the Plateau: we would have had a lot of forewarning to prepare for unexpected guests, and the risk of being ambushed by fiends was practically nonexistent. That being said, there was only an incredibly long and monotonous walk towards the nearest inn at the other side of the Plateau, under a burning sun nonetheless.

Why someone should build an inn in the middle of nowhere, well, that goes beyond me; it must have had something to do with the local villages, probably one of the many transit stations used by the merchants to rest. Nevertheless, it was the only place where we could rest too, at least if we didn't wanted to sleep en plein-air, not to mention eating and drinking. With our throats dry for the heat, we had barely exchanged a few words during the whole trip, as if there weren't enough hostility between me and Lenne already.

If the Great Plateau were a desert, then the inn would have been a pleasant, well outfitted oasis with enough room for a small village: everything within it, from the inn itself to the slightly menacing Machinas that worked there, had been built by the Al Bhed for their unfathomable reasons; all the employees that managed it, including the blonde innkeeper that welcomed us as we approached, were also of Al Bhed origin. They also spoke in a perfect common tongue as if they were human.

"Lady Summoner, sir, good evening. Would you like a room for tonight? It's only 500 Gil." Since the innkeeper had failed to recognise me as a Summoner, he addressed at her first, as if she were the one who took decisions among us. Which she was, incidentally. "Yes. Our voyage has tired me considerably. Just give me a room, so that I can rest for the night. Ah, and bring me something to drink: that excruciating heat left me thirsty." He grabbed a key from a key ring on his belt "Very well m'lady. Room 324 on third floor then, one of my finest double bedrooms. Just cross that hallway and..." "You are mistaken." Lenne interrupted him coldly. "We are not related, and we shall not sleep together."

"Oh. I'm sorry m'lady. When I saw you enter, I assumed you two were a married couple." "You were wrong. Give him another of your rooms. He's quite used to uncomfortable accommodations, there is no need for anything expensive. Your simplest room will suffice, really." Needless to say, her quest for revenge left me with no say in that matter. "Lenne..." but I had no time to protest "Unless it is a matter of life or death, I'd suggest you to keep whatever you might want to say for tomorrow. _I will not be denied_ my well-earned rest." She snatched a key from an embarrassed innkeeper and reached her room without even a goodnight. I let her go reluctantly, paid our innkeeper, and headed towards my bed only after she had double-locked her room's door.

I had hoped tomorrow's breakfast would have calmed her down a bit; her father's failure had left her edgy, and I was in no better condition either, but it was nothing that a good dreamless night couldn't have solved. I should have known better, off course.

* * *

It all began after we had breakfast. I had refrained to mention yesterday's incident, and she had done the same; in fact, we merrily chatted as if nothing had happened, a lot more politely than we ever used to. We were not alone as I had initially thought: apparently the building was well-filled with an unknown number of guests. But a brief glance at these people was enough to realise that they were not simple customers: I had already seen expensive clothes like theirs, they used to be considered cutting-edge at Zanarkand before the war.

_These men are from Zanarkand_, I realised. Deserters and traitors who had cut all ties with their homeland to save themselves from Bevelle. Lenne had noticed them too, and she must have reached my same conclusion because we suddenly realised that, instead of treating us like fellow citizens, they might behave with us like the renegades they had become. Fearing the worst, we stood up and left the room at once, hardly repressing a shiver as everyone gave us a nasty look as we passed them by.

That's when we noticed a disorganized column of people approaching the inn, far larger than the first group: many of them had broken clothes (if they had any clothes at all), several of them had small cuts and bruises over their bodies, all of them seemed on the verge of tears. Other refugees, but not from Zanarkand. And something from their behaviour suggested me that they too were not here for pleasure; nevertheless, the innkeeper left his workstation and began an excited discussion with them.

We failed to grasp most of the talk, but we understood that they had a particular interest for Zanarkandians: the last thing we needed was an angry mob of commoners hot on our heels, but luckily they began spouting among themselves. "Calm down, Lenne. They might not know who we are, and we don't know yet what they want." I whispered her "Let's wait for the innkeeper, we'll ask him what happened." She nodded imperceptibly, without betraying the slightest hint of tension.

* * *

"What? Haven't you heard the news? Its on everybody's lips." the innkeeper confirmed our suspicions "Those people are refugees from the surrounding villages that Sin has burned to the ground. It has been running havoc all across Spira for two days by now." "Sin? What is Sin?" I asked, even if I already knew the answer. "Well, I don't think it calls himself like that, provided it can even think, but...well, basically it is a monster that came from Zanarkand two days ago. A big one, very powerful as I am told. It crushed Bevelle's army and laid waste to Zanarkand. It then followed a couple of Al Bhed airships that were passing by and destroyed them too, there were no survivors. After that, it began wandering aimlessly across Spira, destroying any Machina in its wake. It's not much, but that's all I know. Are you alright, m'lady? You turned white as if you had seen an unsent."

"Yes. Thank you. I think I might need to rest for a while in my chamber, and I'd rather not be disturbed for the time being." "Off course, m'lady." What she actually meant was more along the lines of: "We need to get the hell out of here before these guys recognise us as Zanarkandian Summoners. Or things will rapidly get ugly." As we crossed the main hallway, a small crowd of said people approached the innkeeper, pointed at us and began asking him questions. We sped up our pace even further.

Getting my hands on my despised sword had never been such a relief. And just in time too, because as soon as I had closed my room's door, an outburst of angry shouts, cries of pain and broken dishes told me that a lynching mob had just began redecorating the inn's furniture with the lifeblood of Zanarkand; and I had no doubt that, once word about what we had just done had spread out enough, the same would have happened in a thousand other places across Spira.

Sword in hand, I peeked across the hallway from the peephole: it seemed empty, but the footsteps of men climbing up the nearest stairs suggested otherwise. I had to try my luck with these men: downstairs, I could hear doors being broken and locks being forced; waiting here would have meant being cornered in a room with a single exit, barring a two floor flight from a window.

What I found outside my room were two men armed with eerie nailed clubs, but they must not have been particularly bright, judging from the astonished expression one of them made when I cut his arm up to the shoulder. The second charged me to exploit his superior musculature: I simply let him pass with a little sidestep, right after cutting his jugular vein with one clean sweep. Eager to leave this place as soon as possible, I took the stairs towards Lenne's room.

As it turned out, Lenne had been more than able to take care of herself: the smell of burnt meat that permeated the third floor, coupled with a scary bloodstain over her staff of whom I didn't wanted to know the origin, suggested what had happened to whoever had been unfortunate enough to meet her wrath. As Lenne restrained her blood lust to spare my life, a small crowd turned the corner in the main hallway, marching relentlessly towards us. Their wide selections of exotic and improvised weapons that included, in no particular order, an axe, a war hammer, a whip and a butter knife, was more than enough to guess their intentions.

"Stay where you are. We are Summoners, don't make us hurt you." And if they have had any brain at all, they might have realised how scarce were their chances to survive. Unfortunately for him, Skullcrusher thought that he knew how deadly a Summoner could be better than us: he seemed surprised when he lost his left arm due to a quick slash from my sword, loudly dropping his mighty hammer on the floor as he died. Headchopper and Butterknife had no more luck than him, as Lenne set them both on fire: their screams distracted the lynching mob for a second, enough time for me to charge and cast Impulse. The confined space magnified its destructive efficiency: blood horribly stained the parquet, both walls and the ceiling, while someone could now see what was happening downstairs from a wide gap on the floor.

Since the last of our pursuers was too busy being dead to stop us, we quickly crossed back the main hallway, towards the inn's main flight of stairs. Three floors lower, we chanced upon our courteous Al Bhed innkeeper: he had tried to protect his guests against that horde of animals, and for doing that he had paid the ultimate price. There was no time to mourn his passing: with the slaughter around us still raging, we ran as fast as we could towards the front door.

We still had our rooms keys' with us; but then, we were not going to come back there anytime soon, that's for sure. The nearest place where we could hide was the Macalania Forest, a fiend infested forest that bordered the Great Plateau. Since a second lynching mob was soon to be on our heels, probably a lot better armed than the first, not going there wasn't a viable option. And thus we entered into this haunted forest.


	6. The Price of Peace

_AN: Chapter two rewritten from scratch. Let me know what you think._

* * *

**The Price of Peace:**

Among all the most dangerous places in which you definitely shouldn't spend the night, Macalania Forest is probably second only to Mount Gagazet: you _will_ get eaten alive by fiends while you sleep in both places, the only slight difference is how much additional cold you have to endure before the inevitable happens. And while fiends might not have been a problem for a couple of Summoners, as I discovered with astonishment when Lenne reshaped the nearby trees to form a thick protective barrier around us, the cold was an entirely different matter: simply put, our spells worked only as long as their user was awake, which is hardly possible if you are trying to sleep.

Much to my amusement, Lenne found a simple but effective solution: since she couldn't fall asleep, she hugged me while I was sleeping. The next morning, when I discovered her deed, hilarity ensured: "Lenne!" I woke her up, mildly embarrassed to have been unwittingly embraced by a girl. "Were you hugging me in my sleep?" "No. I was just trying to keep myself warm. Nothing more, nothing less." _You aren't fooling anybody, Lenne!_ But I knew what she wanted me to say. "Off course not. My mistake." She smiled at me, as we tacitly signed our declaration of peace.

"Anyway, I don't know about you, but I am not about to repeat an experience like this." I told her, as I got up to relieve myself from yesterday night's after-effects. "My spine is in a world of pain, and I really miss a bed, not to mention a hot meal and other similar luxuries that we _don't_ have." I had refrained from mentioning the unbearable stomach-ache that struck us when we foolishly tried to drink some unpurified water; one more reason to leave this hellish place once and for all.

"Besides, everything we've done so far is running away aimlessly; if anything, we should decide where we might want to go next." She nodded. "I agree, but we should focus on the main issue at hand, instead of hiding somewhere. We have a responsibility towards Spira, you could say." I understood what she was aiming at, and I didn't like it, because it meant even more trouble for the both of us.

"You mean Sin, right? Well, why should we even care? Bevelle has powerful Machinas, and judging from how they were steamrolling Zanarkand they surely know how to use them. Let them deal with our Aeon; that's their problem, not ours. We can barely keep ourselves alive, how could we ever hope to last more than ten seconds against it?" I had expected Lenne to utter her disagreement, but instead she gave me an irritated gaze.

"I never said we actually had to fight Sin. You are forgetting one detail: we were there when we created the Aeon, and I have even seen its casting diagram beforehand. Who else could claim such a unique insight? If my studies as a Summoner have taught me anything, then we are aware of Sin's strengths and weaknesses more than anyone else on Spira. We need to share this knowledge, it is the least that we can do. You said it yourself, if there is one city that can stop Sin, that city is Bevelle: thus Bevelle shall be our next destination."

That made a lot more sense, and was nowhere as unreasonable as I had previously thought, but still... "Lenne, I'm not saying that it can't be done, but will they even trust us? Remember that, until three days ago, we were still at war with them. Why should they even listen to two Zanarkandian Summoners instead of throwing them in prison? I sincerely doubt they will treat us better than yesterday's lynching mob."

"They will have to." she retorted "As long as Sin roams across Spira, neither Bevelle nor any other city will ever be safe. Besides, think of the political consequences: destroying Sin will leave a world with an immense power vacuüm, ready to be filled by those who have the means and the determination. Bevelle will not risk this opportunity to gain additional power for itself, especially since their greatest enemy is already defeated. We'd actually be doing them a huge political favour, paving their way to Spira's domination."

She took a deep breath, to underline the consequences of such a choice. "I will be honest with you: giving this information to Bevelle means betraying Zanarkand. Sure, they might have the means to destroy Sin but, as you said, they are also our sworn enemies; and when Sin is defeated, they will behave accordingly: our continental hegemony, our most lucrative sources of income, we would lose everything, and I have no doubt that my father will disown me for this; he will surely banish us from Zanarkand, but that is a price I am willing to pay."

"I don't know Lenne. You've put a lot of thought in your reasoning, I will give you that, and I don't see any other viable alternatives, but how are we going to enter Bevelle without getting killed? I doubt they will simply let us get in from the main gate."

"We'll have to improvise. For example, we might draw the attention of one of their border patrols, explain them the situation and ask them for a hearing with their Lords. As long as we don't openly show hostility, they shouldn't open fire on us." Well, that was yet to be seen, but since the war was already over... "You've convinced me, but before we move, there is still one problem to be solved: that would be you. But there's a solution even for that." Lenne looked at me quizzically, unsure about where I was getting at "And why would I be a problem?" The thought of her missing such an obvious fatal flaw in her own plan made me chuckle.

"Lenne, Yu Yevon's daughter does not simply walk into Bevelle without being at least questioned. On the other hand, a Summoner that no one has ever heard of draws a lot less attention, especially if she claims to be married to another Summoner who is not even a noble by birth. Lenne Yevon's marriage would be known throughout half of Spira, while a marriage between two nobodies, of which there are no documents left..."

Lenne smiled at me enigmatically, as if I had just subtly made her some kind of proposition: "I see. Very clever. So: Shuyin, my dear husband, who shall I be?"

* * *

With the benefit of hindsight, I can safely affirm that we hadn't put not nearly enough thought into our plan. I found myself on the ground tasting mud, disarmed and with my hands behind my head, as two armour-clad soldiers pointed their guns at me; the sharp bayonets mounted on their rifles occasionally scratched my back, as these two guys kept me pinned to the ground with their heavy boots. My ribs and the back of my skull were aching from the blows that said soldiers gave me to make me yield, and Lenne was not in a much better state either.

To give credit when its due, Bevelle's soldiers have been a lot more courteous with her than they had seen fit to be with me: she was on her knees, with her hands immobilized behind her back by a couple of soldiers, so that she couldn't cast a spell, while other two were holding her at gunpoint. Her finely crafted staff had been confiscated by a fifth soldier, who was probably wondering whether it could have been dangerous or not; that, or maybe he was just deciding if he should have kept it as a souvenir: I could not understand what was passing on his mind behind his full-face helmet that he and all his buddies constantly wore. Surely Bevelle's army knew how to make their men look intimidating.

And these guys were not merely Bevelle's ordinarily well-drilled soldiers: they were battle-hardened veterans, judging from their scratched, well-worn uniforms all covered with commendations. One of them in particular catched my attention, it consisted in a golden skull over a lightning bolt set within a ring: a shiver passed through my spine as I recognised the Skull of Zanarkand, a highly prestigious award given to those who kill a Summoner in battle. We had just managed to severely piss off some veterans of Zanarkand.

"Idiots." Their captain, another faceless brown-bearded man with a fancier uniform, mocked us. "What on Spira were you thinking? That only because the war's over, we'd be welcoming you into Bevelle with open arms? After what you've done?" Lenne answered him "But that's entirely the point! Sin wasn't created by anyone but Yu Yevon himself. We want to atone for his terrible mistake." The captain gave off a cold laugh with no joy that made my blood ran cold. "I wouldn't merely call Sin a mistake. You see, two days ago in Zanarkand we only lost so much as NINETY. THOUSAND. MEN! Tell that crap to the relatives of these soldiers: they'd skin you alive on the spot, and I'd do the same if I weren't an officer!"

Had we lost the initiative, we would have been as good as dead, thus Lenne insisted "Captain, please. We'd never dream of asking for your forgiveness..." "Well said, because you won't get any." "...but we can make sure that no more innocent people will suffer their fate." For the first time the officer seemed to put his anger aside, mildly interested by her words. "How would you do that?" "We have seen Sin as it was created, we know what drives it, what it seeks and how it fights. If Bevelle has to find a way to destroy it, our information can prove invaluable. Please, I beg you: allow us to help you."

The captain cut the distance between him and Lenne and stared right into her eyes face to face; he might have been sincerely thoughtful, or he might have just wanted to spit into her face. Either way, when their eyes crossed, Lenne's eyes suddenly lightened for just a fraction of a second, changing from chestnut-brown to golden, then back again to their original color. Smart girls like Lenne are _never_ unarmed: the captain remained visibly bewildered for a moment, as her words suddenly gained a lot more weight within his now slightly more malleable mind. He then added "Let's make this clear: under normal circumstances I would never trust you, but Bevelle simply can't afford such a convenience. I can not take this decision alone, I must contact HQ for additional instructions, then we'll see. You may relax for now, but don't get your hopes too high."

As his surprised men lowered their guns, unaware of what had just happened to their superior, we enjoyed this brief moment of relief. "By the way, who the hell are you two?" It was time to put our fictitious background to some good use. "I am Shuyin Zaon, and she is my wife, Lenne Yunalesca." Being a relatively common name, we saw no need to change Lenne's first name, unlike her over-revealing surname. "Zaon and Yunalesca, Summoners from from Zanarkand. Ok, I got it. Just FYI, I am captain Gregorn. Spare me the pleasantries, I can't trust you. Yet." As he walked a few meters away, he spoke in a little communication device included into his right armband.

We sat on the ground and waited. His men exchanged a few words among themselves, probably about how much their captain must had gone nuts, but refrained from transgressing his orders: naturally, they still kept us under close watch. Captain Gregorn eventually returned after what must have been a brief but intense conversation. "This is your lucky day: the High Lords of Bevelle, in their infinite wisdom, are willing to hear your information; I have been ordered to escort you to their palace, where you'll duly present your report. Wait a second! Where do you think you're going?! First of all, you cannot enter the palace while armed. Period. You will deposit any weapon you have to our quartermaster, and you will get them back when you're done. Second: I can not confiscate your magic gimmicks, and I'd rather not be forced to resort to drastic measures. Behave accordingly."

And that was it: despite my fears that my story would have ended far sooner than I would have liked, Lenne had just earned enough leverage to grant us an audience with the High Lords of Bevelle; and all of this while being under the protection of their own army even. We stood up from the ground and temporarily retrieved our gear from a couple of suspicious soldiers. As we got closer to Gregorn, he then added: "Ah, one last thing before we go: be convincing."


	7. Unforseen Consequences

_AN: Chapter two rewritten from scratch. Let me know what you think._

* * *

**Unforeseen Consequences:**

If Grand Maester Yo Mika were to travel back in time for a thousand years, before Bevelle became widely known as the Holy, then I have no doubt that he would describe his own city with courteous words like "blasphemous abomination" and "highly heretical". The degree of wild industrialisation that Bevelle had been through would have made Zanarkand pale in comparison. We had been expecting to see modern buildings served by Machinas, not octagonal landing pads where Al Bhed commercial airships kept landing and taking off. And these mechanized pillar-supported structures were nearly everywhere, providing Bevelle's industrial facilities with the necessary raw materials.

In fact, I noticed, Bevelle's countless industries could work day and night only because a similarly gigantic Al Bhed air fleet was there to them well-supplied; every time an airship landed, it only unloaded several containers, before leaving with its cargo bay empty. I pointed out this frenetic activity to Lenne, asking her what she thought of it. "These are ore containers, Shuyin. They are buying metal for their Machinas; for thousands of them, even. _Bevelle wants to rebuild its army._" Sin wasn't even three days old, and Bevelle was already planning its world conquest as if it were already dead; talk about priorities.

What we had just seen were merely the outskirts of Bevelle. It is a shame, then, that we saw so little of the rest of it; to draw as less attention as possible, Gregorn had requested an enclosed military transport without windows. What we received was a stout Machina that vaguely resembled a scarab, with six legs instead of wheels, so that it could move unhindered even on broken ground. It was even relatively comfortable for being such a cramped vehicle, but either its draftsman held a grudge against Bevelle's Army, or he must have had a twisted sense of humor: if that Machina were a bug, then its rear hatch would have been its anus.

Silly transport Machinas notwithstanding, we eventually arrived at the gates of Bevelle's government building. Unlike our Council Chamber, that hailed back to the founding of Zanarkand, this place was visibly crawling with advanced technology: on the outside, at the very entrance, a sequence of holoprojectors were proudly exhibiting Bevelle's flag; on the inside, there wasn't a single flight of stairs capable of staying still, not to mention the mobile windows and mirrors that exploited the sunlight as much as possible to illuminate the palace.

Captain Gregorn eventually led us to a door guarded by a couple of soldiers: as he and his men left us to inform High Lord Macarian of our presence, he told us to wait for the Lords of Bevelle to finish their current discussion. A very reasonable delay of over one hour is far more tolerable with a nearby holoprojector with the latest news to hear. Apparently, Sin hadn't been exactly inactive during these two days: yesterday it had destroyed a couple of Al Bhed military airships; the A.A. Genesis and the A.A. Variant, two masterpieces of engineering, even if the latter had been finished only by half and was on its way for a flight test. What a shame. Since today, it also clear that Sin was now heading towards the city of Bikanel, in the namesake island, where, also according to some rough estimates, six and a half _million_ Al Bhed lived.

The difference between this emotionless, overly laconic text and reality itself couldn't have been more striking. It was almost with some relief on our part that the doors eventually opened, and we were told to enter.

* * *

We entered. Lenne went first, as I had entrusted her beforehand with the delicate task of addressing to the High Lord; I followed her closely as she got into a small, flat-surfaced Machina with handles on three sides that could fly. This platform began rising slowly, almost gently, as if it were afraid that we would have lost our balance otherwise. That was not the case, but if the scornful expressions of Bevelle's overlords who looked down at us with contempt were of any indication, our balance was far more dangerously precarious. Nobody really wanted us there, that was obvious; moreover, someone had to pay for the Machina War's disastrous outcome, and we just happened to be a convenient scapegoat.

Beforehand, Macarian's decision to hear us out had surely caused a massive political earthquake: as a consummate politician with a lot more farsightedness than his colleagues, he knew that the help of two Summoners could have been invaluable for Bevelle's survival and, by extension, his own personal gain. Had we failed his expectations, he would have ruthlessly discarded us to his blood-lusted underlings without a second thought. One could say that we were in a tribunal, from a certain point of view: High Lord Macarian, who sat in the uppermost seat, was the judge; the other Lords of Bevelle were the jury, and we were the indicted. The executioner was there too; it consisted in none other but Captain Gregorn and his men, stoically at their High Lord's side, plus who knew how many other well-armed Machinas hidden from our sight.

To make us feel even more uncomfortable, they had done something unexplainable to the air we were breathing: it was as if they had forgotten to turn off an air conditioner, and yet the air around us was perfectly still, without even the slightest hint of an airstream. Coldness entered into our lungs, obfuscating our thoughts with a dizziness that we had never experienced before. The air seemed so poor of oxygen that, even before uttering a single word, we were already panting heavily. _"Without any doubt"_ I remember thinking _"another not-so-subtle reminder of who really is in charge."_

As a sign of respect, we both bowed formally to the High Lord, bur received not even a courtesy gesture in response. Uncaring of the less-than-cordial welcome we received, Lenne addressed directly to Macarian. "High Lord Macarian, noble Lords of Bevelle. We thank you for your benevolence." Apparently, blatant lies were included in the protocol that we were expected to follow. "I am Lenne Yunalesca, a humble Summoner from Zanarkand. I have come to bring you vital information about Sin, for the glory of Bevelle." She had refrained to introduce me to our audience, mainly because they wouldn't have cared less.

With the right amount of disdain for us that his role demanded, Macarian stood up from his seat and harshly asked: "And what would you bring us that we don't know already, miss Yunalesca? We have already received several reports of Sin's destructive powers. They are an impressive sight to beheld, but are blasphemous in their very nature: that is why Sin backfired so spectacularly on its foolish creators, as you should know well. I will not tolerate the spreading of such ruinous knowledge within the city of Bevelle!"

Lenne bowed a second time. "That was not our intention. With all respect my Lord, your reports lacks perspective about Sin's real capabilities, something that only a Summoner who has extensively studied magic may possess. That is why we are here. With your permission, I'd gladly show you Sin under a completely new light: a three-dimensional representation of Sin will spare many wasted words." Macarian turned his attention on captain Gregorn and quietly gave him a brief order; the captain saluted and began handling his communication device. We patiently waited again, until Gregorn whispered something at his lord's ear, who nodded in agreement. A recording drone shaped like a sphere flew past us, ready to film our deposition. Unexplainably, the invisible air conditioner stopped working at once, as if its operator had shut it down to turn on the heating. We resumed breathing normally. "Everything's ready? Good. Miss Yunalesca, you may proceed."

"My thanks." and she raised her arms, slowly emitting light from her palms to form a too much well-known whale-like figure, even if in a scaled down version that could have been contained in the room. Hadn't it been for a series of complex symbols that surrounded several parts of Sin's body, among which very few that I could recognise, this representation couldn't have been distinguished from the original: in fact, I noticed with extreme pleasure that many nobles were suddenly scared by its unexpected appearance.

"Sin is an Aeon: a creature crafted with magic by Yu Yevon, our lord and our greatest Summoner. To control it, the High Summoner encased himself into Sin, and he is currently its core. To empower it, he created a Fayth with the souls of our fellow citizens; the Fayth draws energy from the people, and channels it towards Sin. Without it, Sin wouldn't be nearly as strong as it is now. Nevertheless, it is far from unbeatable." Lenne highlighted a symbol with a gesture, surrounding Sin with a pink-blue bubble. A couple of violet nodes on Sin's flanks blinked. "This is Sin's first protective layer, a magical shield. To physically damage Sin, it has to be disabled: these two nodes on his flanks, here and here, will cause the shield to fall if they are destroyed. Be careful though, for the shield is not only a simple form of defense, but also a powerful weapon in itself." Several heads nodded: at least they were taking her seriously now.

Lenne then highlighted several symbols: a series of red dots appeared over Sin's body, and his mouth as well. "These are Sin's main weapons. It can shoot several beams of destructive energy from these orifices, but luckily they are relatively weak. Its mouth is a completely different story: it is a powerful weapon meant to destroy cities, and I seriously doubt that anything could survive a direct hit from it." To further emphasize her point, she unleashed her projection on a miniaturised version of the building we were into: its first and only shot razed it to the ground without even spareing the foundations. Macarian himself nodded gravely, and promised that they would have kept it under consideration.

Lenne then highlighted a third series of symbols, painting Sin's abdomen in yellow. "This is Sin's body. Composed of several sentient organisms that grow on it, they repair it any time that Sin is damaged. Eventually, they will detach from its body and will wander into Spira, adding more and more victims to Sin's list of casualties as new ones regrown. They must be destroyed as soon as possible, lest they continue in their never-ending cycle of death." "We'll keep our fast response units on the alert." Macarian promised again. And that was the last thing she added before claiming to have finished. Saying that I was astounded by her exposition would be an understatement. I barely remembered Sin from our brief contact, letting alone understanding and explaining how it worked to such an audience: and they clearly showed her a lot more respect than before for how well she handled it. Once again, Lenne's extraordinary talent as a Summoner had just saved us from additional trouble. Or so I had thought.

"Have we recorded everything she said? Perfect. Very well, then: the city of Bevelle and I thank you for your very interesting insight regarding Sin, Lady Yunalesca; as a sign of gratitude, you and your husband shall be duly rewarded. Rest assured that our best engineers shall put your valuable information to good use at once." "That won't be necessary, Lord Macarian. I already know how to defeat Sin." _Wait. WHAT?_ The silence that followed her words can hardly be described; Macarian himself, caught on the wrong foot, was left completely speechless. Nobody even lifted a finger when Lenne deleted Sin's projection for a new, similarly complex scheme consisting of a six pointed star with symbols on each end.

"Machinas may damage Sin, but they will never pierce its armour." she explained with confidence "Magic, on the other hand, has no such limitations. What you see under your eyes is the same scheme used by Yu Yevon to create Sin. By repeating his complex spell on some volunteers, Aeons that match Sin's power can be created; unlike Sin, borne from many, an Aeon with a single man or woman as a Fayth is not difficult to control for a Summoner, as Yu Yevon learned at his own expenses. It is my opinion that, with at least four different Aeons on our side, a direct battle against Sin could end victoriously for us. For this plan to work, I only need your coöperation."

Our audience watched us open-mouthed. Until Lord Macarian began giggling. It was then that the entire chamber burst into a sonorous laughter. "That's no joke! I can defeat Sin. I'm sure of it!" protested Lenne as red spots began appearing on her face; but the more she tried to defend her plan, the louder they laughed. "I think we've heard enough." said Macarian, struggling to regain his composure. He directed his attention to the armed men that composed his retinue." Captain, reward these two youths as you see fit, then kick them out of here: I don't want them to wander into my palace while we have important matters to discuss." If Lenne had any hope of convincing the Lords of Bevelle to follow her plan, she had wasted her chance. Our platform returned to its original height, and two guards forced us to leave.

"Now, to the matter at hand." continued Macarian, addressing to his colleagues as if nothing had ever happened "Our latest production report. I don't care if 451 pages full of technical jargon are too much for you to handle. We will examine it now and thoroughly. Let's see... ah, here it is! We shall start with..." As the doors closed behind us, we could still hear a few people giggling.

* * *

All things considered, our exposition could have gone a lot worse. We had just been publicly humiliated, and Lenne still kept her gaze fixed on the floor for the humiliation as a result, but at least they had decided to let us go, with some Gils in our pouches even. "Lenne, we've got to talk." I told her as we walked through a random corridor while looking for the armory. She asked me what was the matter. "As if you didn't knew! We've known each other for years and you still don't trust me. Why on Spira haven't you told me about your plan? We're friends, Lenne! there shall be no secrets among us."

"Friends, huh?" she said in a low voice, as if disappointed by a poor choice of words on my part. "No more secrets among us, then." she raised her head and took a deep breath. "I thought that you wouldn't have followed me if I had told you the truth. How foolish of me. I should have known better, Shuyin, you are not the kind of boy who would abandon me, but I was afraid: I have seen your hatred for the Aeon, for what Sin did to Zanarkand, and I... I didn't want to lose you too." That was as close as she could have ever admitted her feelings; I gently cuddled her to calm her down, she rested her head on my chest and hugged me tightly.

"Lenne?" I whispered her. "Yes?" her beautiful eyes met mines. "I care about you and I will follow you no matter what, but we must be realist: Bevelle would have never approved your plan, their utter lack of respect for Summoners proves that I'm right, so let them play with their beloved Machinas and forget about them while we save Spira." her puzzled expression made me smile. "What, you thought I was against your plan? I'm not, because I trust your judgement. But if I am to take part in it then I need to know it in details." I could have read the relief in her eyes, when she gave me her word.

It was settled then. I let her go; but instead of doing the same, she tightened her grip and closed to me, with her eyes fixed in mines; they burned with desire. A shiver passed through my spine as I realised what she was aiming at. And I was okay with that. "Shuyin?" I willingly let her shorten the distance between us even further. "Yes?" There was no need for words. instinctively, my lips got closer to hers...until an alarm bell called Gregorn reminded us that we were still in Bevelle. "HEY, YOU LOVEBIRDS! What do you think you're doing?! Have you forgotten where you are?!" Awkwardly, while cursing that man's incredibly inopportune timing, I stopped Lenne with a single determined movement.

"Uh...Lenne...he is right. I...I think we should leave." From her expression it was clear that she couldn't have believed her own ears. "You see... we are not exactly welcome here." What a pathetic excuse. She let me go without a word, nearly in tears. I've hardly felt so guilty. Later, we decided by tacit agreement to never mention this accident again; currently her eyes were merely betraying her bitter disappointment. "Not exactly welcome, you said?" Gregorn grumbled "Ha! Don't make me laugh. It's a miracle they even decided to let you go. But I know what has to be done: follow me, to my office. We shall have a little chat in there, nothing to be worried about: quite the contrary in fact! It might even be worth your while." Lenne gave me a quick gaze. I did the same to her. We nodded in agreement, as we accepted his unforeseen offer.

* * *

"...and then you two got married." Gregorn concluded, while rasping his full brown beard. He had removed his full-face helmet and...behold! There was a man underneath it! "Well, our ceremony was more akin to a funeral than a marriage, but yeah." The captain chuckled at my remark and lazily stretched on his chair. Since when we arrived in his office, he had insistently asked us any possible kind of question about ourselves; so far our cover seemed to hold, as we had been provident enough to fill it beforehand with small details and tidbits to make it more believable.

"It's not surprising. It might seem odd to a civilian who has never seen war, but I've already seen couples like you two, in fact they are surprisingly common: when everything is at stake and defeat seems inevitable, certain decisions are either taken while it is still possible, or will never be taken again. An early marriage between two youths? nothing unusual in that." Which was the point of our entire fake back story, to be as less attention worthy as possible.

"That reminds me: how did it went your first wedding night?" "Excuse me?" "I am talking about the part when you had sex." Dang it! The only part we hadn't thoroughly considered. How was I supposed to answer a question like that? He left me speechless! Fortunately Lenne stepped in to answer in my stead. "It was quite disappointing. He has much yet to learn on the bedroom." _Well, thanks a lot Lenne!_ Gregorn, satisfied with her answer, sneered at my expenses and asked me no more.

"Anyway, I haven't brought you here only to discuss about the best positions in the bedroom." he added, as he regained his composure. "What I am interested into is Sin. judging from what I've heard from you, it could theoretically raze a city to the ground with a single evil eye. I want it dead, you can't even imagine how much. And yet I can't help but wonder if you two wouldn't merely unleash even more monstrosities into Spira."

"You have nothing to fear." Lenne answered him again "We have learnt from the mistakes of others: one person, one Aeon, is easy to control for those who know how to; there is no risk that it will run amok. Besides, if our Aeons really were as powerful as Sin, we wouldn't need _at least_ four of them, don't you think?" Since he knew nothing of what we were talking about, Gregorn chose to remain quiet. Nevertheless his body briefly betrayed his thoughts, his hopes that we were right. When he spoke again, there was no trace left of his mocking sarcasm, his distinctive sign. His next words came out quickly from his mouth; for once, they were only of the uttermost seriousness.

"You will not find any help here. Bevelle is a hostile city for Summoners, that is why you have to leave it as soon as possible. You might find some support from the inhabitants of the southern islands, though: they are a superstitious bunch, it shouldn't take too much effort to convince them; a couple of magic gimmicks, and they'll be at your feet. As a military officer, I have the power to requisition a couple of seat on any civilian transport ship moored at our docks, as long as it bears the markings of Bevelle. You may choose where to land. After that, you'll be on your own."

He concluded his monologue, leaving us into an embarrassed silence. This man was willing to risk his career for _us_; not merely some strangers he had never heard of, but his sworn enemies even, for a slight chance that our plan _might_ work. And to think that we had just exploited him beforehand, manipulating his mind with magic for our needs! We owed him some kind of an apology, it was the least we could do; and Lenne found those words that refused to came out from my lips.

"You may behave like a jerk, but within your heart you are a good man, Captain. How could we ever thank you?" "Easy: stop flattering me, and get lost already".


	8. Mandate of Heaven

**Mandate of Heaven:**

Much to Gregorn's relief for the well-being of his own military career, we managed to leave Bevelle without further incidents. It's not like he was afraid of the High Lord's reaction, had he found us still lurking within his palace; no, not even in the slightest. His concerns were of an entirely different nature: to make sure that Bevelle's law and order remained as it was, he had to get rid of two potential troublemakers, the sooner the better. The last thing he wanted to receive on his desk was a report of a major _disagreement_ between us and his fellow citizens, an angry mob ready for warfare, in other words.

His men would have never _attacked_ us without an order, but they didn't have to _save_ us either. That is why, after one last handshake that nearly broke my fingers, he had us hastily geared up and embarked on an enclosed transport Machina headed for Bevelle's harbour; hidden in plain sight, two Summoners shouldn't have had too much trouble mingling with a heterogeneous crowd that largely consisted of Al Bhed civilians and engineers; their presence here was not exactly a surprise, given these eggheads' proficiency with the very Machinas Bevelle was so in love with.

Eventually, among the foul smells of motor oil and the black puddles of bunker fuel, we found a chance to use Gregorn's requisition order. Not a useless piece of waste paper that could bend or get wet, the likes of which were only used for formal communications, but a full-working miniaturised holoprojector: a Machina that I decided to mount on my left wrist, it was in all extents nearly identical to an iron bangle. It was also quite fashionable for my tastes, and it surely opened us a lot of doors: a slight pressure on a hidden button was enough to turn it on, so that any bystander could see the message and the seals of office that accompanied it. By shamelessly flaunting this knickknack in the face of a commander on whose ship we had fancied to travel with, I managed to turn him pale as if I had put him in front of a firing squad. Which was probably what would have happened to him, had he refused to follow his orders.

Before leaving us alone on the deck with almost indecent haste, never to be seen again, we received two key cards from the frightened ship's captain, the cabins where we would have slept. A keycard was for the boy whose orders he kept reading repeatedly to not miss anything important; the other one was for the girl who had seen fit adding some veiled threats to make sure he got the message straight. I put the keycard on my open hand and examined it: "My cabin is number 21. What's yours, Lenne?" "The same as yours, off course. _Have you forgotten that you are my husband?_"

I didn't get the implications of her words until we opened our cabin's door: what we found was a cramped room that only a Hypello could have ever found fitting for his size; it had nearly no furniture and, most importantly, not even the slightest hint of a couch. In fact the entire room would have been completely unremarkable, were it not for a solitary double bed. _Ours. _To add further insult to the injury, the only bed we had was simply too narrow for us to sleep together comfortably, not to mention avoiding physical contact between us: and with Lenne (_voluntarily?_) searching for me during the night, it was next-to impossible. She never mentioned it in the following mornings, but I know for sure that she had hugged me at least twice.

I never returned her advances. It's not like I never found her attractive, quite the contrary in fact; and yet, I couldn't exactly pinpoint why, my feelings for Lenne were unexplainably mixed. Part of me still saw her as my closest friend, even it was clear that she was aiming to be something more than that. I had hoped that, with time, I would have eventually figured out what was wrong in my head. For now, I kept reminding myself, I had to deal with this awkward situation.

* * *

Spira has countless small islands dotting its surface and Besaid, being the smallest of them to be inhabited, as well as the most far away from the main continent, was almost an inevitable choice as the very first step of our journey. With the benefit of hindsight, I suppose we could have chosen better. Sure, when we eventually got there the locals had no clues about our identities, but the entire journey, instead of being as short as I had hoped, lasted nearly _ten_ days, which we spent on the ship's deck while doing absolutely _nothing_, from dawn to dusk.

Without any stopovers between Bevelle and Besaid, the view swiftly passed from being "_mildly interesting_" to "_nauseatingly repetitive and uniform_" as soon as we had lost sight of the shore. As our need to spend time exponentially grew more desperate by the minute, we turned our attention to the other passengers only to discover, much to our disappointment, that they wanted to have nothing to do with Summoners. We still had each other if we wanted to talk, but there was a physiological limit to how much we could bear it. In the end, as our journey neared its so-much-awaited natural end, we began taking in serious consideration the hypothesis of bedding each other just for the sake of doing something.

Devising our _grandiose_ plan was probably the only talking point we hadn't exhausted yet after the first days of travel. It was clear that Lenne knew what she was doing with the Fayth's creation spell, but she hadn't told me yet how we were going to find volunteers for it. "We have to earn their trust. If they are as superstitious as Gregorn said, then they certainly regard Summoners with high esteem: we should exploit this to our advantage. Remember, these Fayths aren't one-time wonders that you can later forget about; they needs extensive care, for their Aeons to be effective in battle."

Great, I moaned with exasperation, yet another complication that Lenne had _somehow_ forgot to mention: now someone also had to constantly watch over the Fayths; to nourish them, even, and the more people the better! The number of volunteers we needed had just passed from "only" four to who-knew-how-many-others. "Convincing one person? We can do that. An entire island? Not likely, unless you want to fight Sin in your seventies." for a second, her cathartic laugher eased our anxiety. Nightfall was nowhere near to be seen, and we were dead tired already.

"Magic can help us out only so much," I pointed out, glad to see that she had returned smiling at me after a long time. "it won't earn us their blind trust." "Then what are we supposed to do?" Lenne snapped at me, as if I had just caused her yet another migraine. "Just for a second, try putting yourselves in their shoes, if they have any! Sin is not an easy concept to explain: what makes you think their simple minds could ever grasp something so complex? Our word is everything they have."

As a point of fact, our word wasn't particularly trustworthy. We had no power whatsoever over these people, and we knew it. But perhaps, as an audacious idea came to my mind, there were _others, _far above us_,_ whose authority over them was unquestionable. "Sin is not an Aeon to such a bunch of simpletons. For all they know, it might as well be a divine punishment sent by an angered God to chastise them for their sins. We'd only have to confirm their suspicions, and claim that we can ease their suffering."

Lenne opened her mouth to reply... and remained quiet. She turned my idea over in her mind, mumbling for a while. "The Mandate of Heaven; granted by a God to a mortal, so that the latter can act in His stead. Two sanctioned Summoners with a holy quest: to free Spira from Sin. Liberators. Bearers of hope for the common people. Meditation and prayers: two ancient and meaningful gestures, easily taught, easy to be remembered, that makes you feel part of a community. And the Fayths would then be the altars? Yes, that could work. An excellent thought Shuyin, I am impressed."

Just to earn Lenne's commendation was an achievement in all itself. "Thanks. It's settled then." But I had spoken too early. "Not yet, we have forgotten one detail. The first thing that an almighty God masters is itself. Do we really want to hear people saying: _He is so powerful, and yet He doesn't even has a name?_ Becoming a laughing-stock is not currently on my top list of priorities." Her light-hearted joke made me laugh; the thought that we were finally done with this also helped a lot, though. "Yeah, it wouldn't be very believable. What do you propose?"

"Just grant me a little satisfaction out of those arrogant bureaucrats who call themselves the Lords of Bevelle, despite their obvious incompetence: for Zanarkand, let's call it Yevon." The cruel irony, to venerate the very man who created Sin in the first place. Now, I knew that Yu Yevon was regarded almost as a legendary figure nearly all over Spira, I had even heard a tale or two about his supposed extraordinary accomplishments when I was still in Zanarkand; but even then, his sudden ascension to godhood just seemed a bit over the top. And yet I never contested Lenne's decision, for she does nothing without a reason. Rehabilitating her father's name was just her own way to endure her most difficult ordeal: to be the one that will finally kill him.

* * *

Our first impression of Besaid consisted in broken trees and floating wreckage, as if the island had been recently hit by a tropical storm of immense proportions. "It appears they have met Sin." I said lamely, stating the obvious. Most of the island was still relatively intact, if a little charred maybe; Besaid's harbour, on the other hand, had suffered severe damage, and was now completely useless. Not that we were going to moor on it anytime soon, anyway: our evasive commander, after turning out his ship's engines and dropping its anchor away from the shore, was now trying to understand why makeshift rafts full of people were restlessly moving towards us.

_"They are leaving the island!" _Lenne told me, as we watched a crowd gathering on the shore from the railing. That was bad: not that our ship could have ever sustained such an overcrowding; nevertheless, for our plan to work, we still needed as many people as possible on Besaid. "Shuyin. We can't let them go. We must land at once." Easier said than done: there were at least two hundred meters of rough water between us and the shore. Had we known how to operate its engine, we might have _borrowed_ a lifeboat; another possibility was to cover the distance by swimming, even if our clothes and gear weren't exactly ideal for doing that.

I pointed out these issues to Lenne, asking her what she thought of it. As a response, she shrugged and leapt outboard over the railing. _"Lenne! What do you think you're..." _But when I looked down below, what I saw hushed me up. Instead of floating in the sea as one would expect, Lenne was standing still on water as if she were on flat land. "Care to join me, or would you rather swim?" she asked me smiling, with the tip of her staff betraying what appeared to be a powerful spell. Reluctantly, I followed her example and threw myself off-board, smoothly impacting with semi-solid water that could sustain my weight. For now. "And stay close to me, unless you want to get wet. A lot."

We certainly made quite an impression on the locals when we "landed"; really, we left them all agape when they noticed the two of us walking on water. Unlike the inhabitants of Bevelle or Zanarkand, these people resembled savages more than civilised men: their women had very simple hand-made clothes interwoven with flowers or seashells, nothing fancy or extravagant made by Machinas like our clothes; their men were all bare-chested fellows with shoulder-length hair who wore even less. For a second, Lenne completely ignored the former and concentrated her attention on the latter's extraordinarily well-developed muscles, dreamy; at least she had the decency to not look in my direction for comparison. Both genders brought with them the smell of the ocean on their skins; neither of them wore anything that resembled a pair of shoes.

They had wounded; after introducing ourselves as Summoners Zaon and Yunalesca, we offered them our help without asking for anything in return. As Lenne attended to their most seriously injured, healing in mere seconds wounds that would have taken weeks otherwise, I asked them why were they leaving Besaid: a great spirit of evil, as they explained, had come to their village without warning; it killed several people to satisfy its hunger, but when it eventually departed, it left behind a part of itself. But from that small part came even more evil spirits, and now that their village had been overrun by them, they had no choice but to leave.

I promised them that we would have taken care of the lesser spirits in the village first, so that these people could finally get back to their homes. We then departed towards their village as soon as Lenne had finished with her wounded. As we approached our destination, after crossing an unstable rope bridge that could hold itself together only by a miracle, we ran across one of the fiends that we would later get so acquainted with.

The Sinscale resembled a four pawned bug with bird's feathered wings and a frail carapace. Its body had various shades of green, blue and violet. For being a fiend that barely reached my hip, it mustn't have been very smart: it was so busy rummaging through foul-smelling rubbish that it failed to notice us entering the village. Not very far, some of his dumb buddies were doing the same, while leaving themselves completely open for an attack from behind. Their utter lack of interest for us was almost insulting.

Before I could draw my sword to show them how much I was worthy of their attention, Lenne told me to just leave them alone. She had something special in mind for the Sinscales, she explained, but she needed to reach the center of the village, for another powerful spell of hers to be effective. Wondering of how she would have dealt with all the Sinscales without razing the village, I decided to let her have it in her own way. I was expecting a cascade of sparks, or maybe some spectacular fireworks, but what happened next can hardly be described; the sky blackened out at once, the temperature suddenly fell by at least thirty degrees. Two funeral pyres appeared at Lenne's sides, the unholy blue fires burning inside them soon increased in strength, as they devoured the few light left. I found myself completely blind and deaf, submerged in a pitch black darkness that had no apparent end. It was alive. And hungry. And I was defenceless against it, for it could have easily swallowed me whole.

Or maybe not. I saw pyreflies, dozens of them, even; mere flickers of light in a thick darkness that covered everything. They rose from the ground, illuminating the road ahead of me. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the darkness began retreating; its cold touch spared me, but it brought what remained of the Sinscales with it. As soon as I could see and hear again, I reached the only figure that was still standing. _"Lenne! What on Spira was that?" _"Megadeath, the ultimate black magic spell. I might have overdone it a little, though; I never meant for it to get _that close_ to you." If cleansing an entire village worth of Sinscales while nearly killing me in the process could be considered "overdoing it a little", then, yes, I suppose she'd be right.

She looked at me mildly embarrassed, as if she had just read my thoughts. She added that, since we were basically done here, we might as well have returned to Besaid's inhabitants, to finally bring theme some good news. They owed us now, it was time to take advantage of their gratitude. Little did I knew that I was about to take part in the most important moment of my life.


End file.
